


set a fetter on the sea

by Imkerin



Category: Football RPF
Genre: First Time Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Liverpool F.C., M/M, minor armband kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imkerin/pseuds/Imkerin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>16 december 2013</p>
            </blockquote>





	set a fetter on the sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anemoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anemoi/gifts).



Hours later and Luis can still feel the weight of the armband around his bicep, more like the grip of a hand than the stretch of tight cloth. In 90 minutes it'd worked itself straight into his blood, left him hungry and itching and restless. He's used to that, but he's also used to goals helping and this time they hadn't.

It's well past midnight. An hour ago Sofia kissed him on her way to bed, touched his shoulder, just clear of the ache in his arm, like a benediction, like she'd looked into him and known and understood all the ways in which he isn't enough yet. He thinks, probably, she does. It's something to hold on to.

He wraps himself up, dark coat, plain hat, wide scarf, and lets himself out. Running gives him something to do, somewhere to go, and even without anything to chase it makes his mind ease off a little. It'll stop as soon as he does, he knows himself well enough to know that, just as he knows that he has to do something to fix this before it gets bad enough that he picks up another ban

Luis runs himself out first, until the December air burns in his lungs and the pain feels good enough. When he finally looks at it his phone glares 3:00 like a warning, but he calls Stevie anyway, waits through the ring and Stevie's muzzy, slurred barely-intelligible _H'lo_ , and says "I want to talk."

He doesn't want to talk, but he knows Stevie understands him too, though it's a different kind of understanding, the kind that comes from half-shared experience, where you can imagine for a second that you want what they want, even when you don't want to. Like Luis understands how Stevie needs this scar on his arm, and how he imagines Stevie knows Luis needs him to take it back.

"Yeah," Stevie says. Luis can hear a quieter, higher voice behind him: his wife. It ought to make him regret what he's asking, probably, but he doesn't, he can't.

 

Half an hour later he's got Stevie pinned down underneath him in some flat he's never been to before, a trail of coats and trousers and scarves and shirts leading back from the bed to the locked door, none of them red. Stevie smells so different: no sweat, no grass, no dirt, just sleep and a hint of soft perfume, but his body is hard and taut under Luis's hands, and _his_ fingers, when they latch on to Luis's arm, dig in like they're carving into his skin.

"Go on then," Stevie says, so Luis does, shifts so he can keep one forearm over Stevie's hips to hold him down and get the other hand on his cock. He's hard already, thick and hot against Luis's palm, their skin dry enough still that there's a little rasp of friction as he strokes him slowly, keeping his eyes on Stevie's, watching for the need to crawl into them.

He isn't expecting Stevie to reach down and touch his face, somewhere between tender and possessive, the flat of his hand along Luis's cheek more intimate than Luis's wrapped around his cock; his strokes stutter just a second in their rhythm, but it's enough for Stevie to see it and smile. Something Luis doesn't have a name for wells up in his chest like a black hole, and then Stevie's thumb is on his mouth, rubbing over his lower lip until it opens for him without Luis's conscious thought, pressing in against his teeth. Stevie's eyes have gone dark, but not in the way Luis expected, not the way he's seen before: this is Stevie when they're down at halftime, fighting mad and ready for it, and even before Stevie opens his mouth again Luis can feel the control slipping out of his hands, the knot in his arm loosening under the clamp of Stevie's fingers.

"Use your mouth," he says. His thumb runs along the clenched line of Luis's teeth and he doesn't say anything about that ban last year, but he doesn't have to; they both know what he's asking, what he's doing by letting that hint of captain's steel slip into his voice.

Luis opens his mouth further, lets Stevie run his thumb over his tongue, tasting the rough callus of it, the blank nothingness of skin without a coat of sweat. He's never done this before, and he doesn't know if Stevie can tell or whether it matters if he does. Either way, when he pulls his hand back out of Luis's mouth and curves it around side of his head, into the hair at the back of his neck, Luis bows his head without needing the weight of it to push him down. 

It's shockingly easy: he lets the head of his cock slide in, just like that, until his lips, stretched so much wider now, are pressed hard up against the side of his own fist. Stevie's cock is heavy on his tongue, salt and bitter smeared up so far inside his mouth that he can feel it starting to water.

He knows he should be angry or ashamed or both, but Stevie is still smiling at him with that look of confident expectation and so he just sucks, cheeks hollowing around him just like a girl's would. It presses his tongue up around Stevie's cock, sliding across the base and along the line of his foreskin until Stevie's breath rattles in his chest. The taste is stronger now, thicker, like it could overflow his mouth; he has to swallow it back to keep from drooling down over his fingers.

"Move your arm, Luis," Stevie says, sliding his hand slowly Luis's arm down to his elbow where it's resting at Stevie's hip. When he does, bracing it on the bed instead, Stevie's hand tightens around the back of Luis's neck, and he says, "Good."

The word settles into Luis, into the middle of that empty space inside him, and when Stevie gently rocks upwards, pushing his cock through Luis's fist and deeper into his mouth, he finds himself moaning around it. It's barely loud enough for him to hear it himself, but Stevie must feel the tremble of his breath because he holds himself like that, pressed almost all the way to the back of Luis's throat, almost enough to choke him, for long seconds before he pulls back slowly.

He follows him down without thinking about it, hand slipping down the shaft, wet with his spit now. Above him, Stevie makes a sharp, harsh noise, his cock twitching in Luis's mouth, scraping across his teeth and jutting hard into his cheek, pushing it out obscenely before Luis can get the angle right and settle it into the back of his mouth again. Stevie's cursing under his breath, his voice soft and thick, but he thrusts up again, harder this time, a little less controlled, and Luis chokes and moans again at the same time.

When Stevie comes it fills his mouth like a flood, spilling out past his lips even as he tries to swallow, wanting it all, chasing it down to the base of his cock, licking it off Stevie's skin and his own. It feels filthy and horrifying, come and spit smeared all over his lips and up his cheek, it feels like a win, it feels like silver in his hands. He doesn't know when he closed his eyes, or when Stevie's other hand settled in his hair, or when he got so hard that the sheets feel damp against his cock, and, finally, he doesn't care, because this is -- finally -- almost enough.

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday, here's your suarrard :'|


End file.
